


Moth and Flame

by LyraNgalia



Series: Murder on the Hogwarts Express [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraNgalia/pseuds/LyraNgalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Triwizard Tournament is not the only game being played during Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes' time at Hogwarts, nor is it the most dangerous. The Yule Ball and all its accompanying excitement makes secrets swirl through the halls of Hogwarts, and while Irene Adler means to discover them all, she is not above creating a few scandals of her own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moth and Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [iadler](http://iadler.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, who wanted "It's the first Yule Ball during their time in Hogwarts and like the Gryffindors the Slytherins also have to practice the dancing for it. Somehow Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler end up having to dance together."

The announcement of the Triwizard Tournament had, predictably, sent the entirety of Hogwarts into a frenzy of excitement. That excitement had spiked when the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students arrived, and ebbed slightly when the champions had been chosen: a wiry girl from Durmstrang whose teeth flashed white and fierce in her dark face when she was announced, a sylph of a boy from Beauxbaton whose pretty frightened face had belied the cleverness in his fingers, and the thoroughly boring Ravenclaw head boy from Hogwarts named Anderson.

Irene personally thought the student from Durmstrang had the best chance. She had a ruthlessness about her Irene liked, a steadiness of nerve. She also liked power, liked victory, far more than either of her opponents (Anderson liked validation, liked being arrogant, which was hardly the same), which made her the obvious choice of winner.

The first task had been disappointing, an obvious tie, but the second task should make things far more interesting, especially if Irene had her way. A few whispers in the right ear would be precisely what the contest needed to make it truly interesting. But that wouldn't be feasible until after the winter holidays, especially given that the winter holiday would now include a Yule Ball. A dramatic social function and all the accompanying salacious rumours, spurned invitations and potential secrets. It was obvious why Irene Adler was looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, Irene soon realized that despite the potential for misbehaviour the Yule Ball would entail, the fact that the majority of Hogwarts' students were idiotic, barely capable of throwing a hex and walking at the same time, meant that there were now classes on social niceties such as dancing being introduced as well.

Her own father had insisted Irene master dance ages ago, and the thought of watching her fellow students bumble their way through a sweaty palmed waltz was dreadful, though Irene admitted it could be useful. Still, she appeared in the Great Hall with the rest of her fellow Slytherins, smirking slightly when she caught sight of the Holmes boy looking distastefully at a cluster of three second year girls from Gryffindor who giggled at him. She settled towards the back of the room with a careful look of nonchalant boredom on her face, and her pale hawthorn wand between her fingers.

The head of Gryffindor, a dapper wizard who was moderately clever in matters of Muggle studies but was dreadfully trusting of his students, stepped up into the middle of the room and gestured for the students to divide, males on the left, females on the right. Irene remained where she was, and continued watching, taking note of which male student's eyes flickered towards which female student, and vice versa. A small smirk tugged at her mouth when she noticed in particular that Remus Lupin's gaze kept wandering over to his friends. James Potter was studiously trying to catch Lily Evan's eye and Peter Pettigrew looked at the row of female students, then down at his hands. Sirius Black, on the other hand, stared resolutely down at the ground, glaring as if he could burn a hole into the stone, never wavering.

Now wasn't _that_ interesting.

The professor began calling for pairs, gesturing for a male student to step up, then a female to take the spot opposite the (usually terrified) male student, and guided them through the bow, then the first steps of a simple waltz. It did not take very long, of course, for the demonstration to make clear that the class would have a long ways to go before they were even remotely presentable, and Irene personally had no desire to be lamed by an sweaty-palmed idiot with two left feet and a poorly concealed erection. So she stayed as she was, standing against the back wall, looking bored, watching her fellow classmates attempt to waltz.

That worked, for about half an hour, until the class had mostly at least learned to sway in unison, which made Irene's own lack of rhythmic motion apparent to their instructor. "Come now, Miss Adler," his voice admonished, ringing out over the music. "Don't be shy. You will have to learn to waltz as well. Wouldn't want to step on some Beauxbaton boy's feet, would you? Come along, I'm sure one of our gentleman would be happy to dance with you."

The classroom's inhale was audible, a collective gasp of something like fear by the young men, and one of anticipation by the young women. The young men feared humiliation at her hands, which the young women in class wanted nothing more than to see her rejected by all, to visit their humiliations (whether real or imagined) at her hand back on Irene.

"I'm quite well versed, thank you, Professor," Irene answered politely, inclining her head. The gesture allowed her to glance left, to see Sherlock Holmes keeping an enthusiastic but uncoordinated second year from stepping on his feet, and also to see the way most of the male students backed away in instinctive self-preservation. "I doubt any of your students would be able to match a minuet, after all."

The professor harrumphed in indignation and swept his eyes across the group. "Ah, Mr. Holmes," he said as his eyes landed on Sherlock. "You were _just_ complaining about how simple these dance steps are, weren't you? Please, hand Miss Russell over to Mr. Moran if you will, and see if you can help Miss Adler demonstrate a proper minuet."

Sherlock looked up then, ignoring the professor, his eyes immediately centering on Irene. He let go of Miss Russell, who deflated immediately, and offered Irene a perfectly executed bow from across the room. In return, Irene curtsied with a sweep of her wand, the motion causing the students closest to her to back away. Out of the corner of her eye, Irene saw Remus Lupin grip Sirius Black's arm, pulling him back, and Irene smirked as she rose.

The students backed away from Irene and Sherlock, as if they were about to duel rather than dance, and Irene took a step forward. "I believe it is the gentleman's prerogative to ask for the dance, is it not?" she asked, a slow smile curling over her lips.

Sherlock's lips thinned as he glanced over at the professor, who waved encouragingly. "Miss Adler," he said stiffly as he approached and offered her his hand. "May I have this dance?"

The music switched easily then, from a slow, stately waltz, its instruments clear and plodding as to not confuse the students counting beats, to something more complex, more elegant, a trilling minuet.

Irene rested her fingertips on the proffered hand and stepped up next to Sherlock, her wand hand at the small of her back, as etiquette would demand, her wand tipped precisely as the dance required. As soon as her fingertips met his, he raised his arm to position, palm towards her, his own wand arm at his back.

"I'd be delighted, Mr. Holmes," she answered, moving her own hand to mirror his motion, so that their hands rested palm-to-palm, with a precise quarter inch of space between them. Her smile grew as he slipped easily into the dance, into the step each beat of the music required, and she preened when she saw his eyes widen in surprise, then grudging approval, as she matched his steps with the correct ones. The minuet was, after all, a refined dance, a difficult one, and one only the most traditional wizarding families still insisted their children learn.

Irene's focus was on her partner, though a small part of her noticed their dance instructor offering some banalities to the class about the dance being performed. An instructional moment, no doubt. Irene herself, on the other hand, did not resist the urge to murmur quietly to her partner, "You're rather good."

The set of his shoulder straightened with pride as they spun away from each other and then back together, their hands once more palm-to-palm, radiant heat seeming to make their hands feel as if they were actually touching. "You're not so bad," he admitted.


End file.
